Zero Hour
by Khatt
Summary: Don't fantasize about people that can read minds. Or do, because they might take you up on it.
The matte, gunmetal grey of the conference table invited a multitude of purpose. At present, it was being used to channel the frustrations of Finalizer personnel in regards to the completion of Starkiller Base, and the location of its newest construct of troop barracks. Ninety-seven standard minutes had passed with no resolution in sight, and General Hux was growing impatient.

No, not impatient, he chided himself. Impatience was for children. For those with no self control. He was _annoyed._ Mostly due to the fact that he had already come to a decision in the matter, and would implement it regardless of the arguments and verdicts of the group attending the current meeting. Giving his subordinates the illusion of choice assured both their compliance and Hux's control—a position the General resecured at every opportunity. He allowed himself a nigh-invisible smirk before returning to his torpor.

Hux had chosen to stand at the head of the durasteel table, hoping that it would speed the process. It hadn't worked, and damned if he was going to sit down now. That would only invite more conversation as he gave the illusion of 'settling in' to the meeting.

He'd rather smash his own head into this table. Perhaps a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter onto his officers would encourage them to pick up the pace. Unlikely. He glanced around, imagining the scene in an effort to drown out the chatter of voices in front of him. This room _could_ use some red in it, he considered. A banner would be more appropriate than the innards of himself, or, more likely, some poor unlucky ensign. He would have a word with Chief Petty Officer Unamo the moment he was finished with this dull affair. His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for his datapad to make a note.

No. No distractions. None visible to his staff, in any case. Just perceived attention on the matter at hand.

Hux caught a glimpse of his reflection in the brushed metal slab in front of him. He noticed, with no small amount of pride, that he stood at perfect parade rest, unswaying, despite the irritation at his current circumstances. Because all of his stress, anger and frustrations could be traced back to one, unyielding problem to which he could find no resolution:

He was horny as a Tethian hunting fly in swooping season.

Even in the dark surface before him, Hux could see a flush creeping up his neck. No matter. The room was warm, and he could blame the duct work if anyone asked. Which they wouldn't. He took a deep breath—quietly, so that none of his officers noticed—and released it, feeling the heat recede from his face.

But how he longed to take someone, _anyone_ on that cold, grey slab in front of him. Bending them over, face-down, pinning them down at the shoulder with his forearm as he grabbed whatever he could reach, still gloved, spewing filth into their ear between nips at their neck and back as he took them from behind. Male or female, it didn't matter to him. His only preference was the lean, hard body of a soldier.

Ah, but therein was the problem. Rank. The same issues arose in the academy, plaguing the students from year one. A difference in rank could be used as leverage against one of higher authority, and damned if Hux's libido would be his downfall. But now, in command of the First Order fleet's flagship? There _was_ no one of higher rank. Nor anyone of _equal_ rank, save—

Kylo Ren slumped directly across from him at the foot of the table, looking as though he'd melted into the conference chair. His robes draped over every surface he contacted like they were poured into place behind him. Hux scoffed internally at the very idea of a sexual encounter with… with _that._ Ren's head tilted to the side, as though noticing Hux's eyes on him. Hux looked away.

Only to see the rest of the attendees staring at him. Apparently he'd snorted aloud.

He made a show of reaching into his greatcoat for a handkerchief and dabbing at his perfectly-clean nose. "The air is dry in here." He stated, inviting no argument. "Do continue."

They did. Hux wondered if he'd missed his opportunity to speed the proceedings, having been distracted by Lord Ren, of all things. Still, a powerfully-built individual like that would at least provide ample… _entertainment_ for the rest of the meeting.

Hux returned to his previous fantasy, now replacing the faceless body under him with Ren's. He imagined the texture of that rough-knit cowl under his gloves, pressed against the metal of the table. His hands and cock rubbing against thighs that could jump ten meters. Slapping a stinging handprint or four on Ren's face and ass as punishment for destroying the ship. Hux nodded to himself in absolution. That would _definitely_ provide him some much-needed relief.

He glanced up and across the table, looking for more details to feed his fantasy. Ren was slouched to one side, one leg draped unceremoniously over a chair arm, black-and-silver masked face leaning onto a gloved fist on his other side. Hux found himself longing to rip off that mask and grab a fistful of Ren's hair as he shoved himself into—

Did Ren even have hair? What color was it?

 _Dark brown, almost black,_ Hux heard in his mind. He froze, feeling himself flush bodily as white hot embarrassment pierced him through.

 _Kind of wavy_ , Ren added.

Hux's mortification drove him immediately into a coughing fit. He grasped at the inside of his coat for his handkerchief again, but had to reach out to balance himself on the table in front of him before he managed to retrieve it. Opening his watering eyes, he saw that his earlier mental image of a pinned Kylo Ren still remained on the table like a hologram. Surely some Force-trick of the man across from him. Hux also noticed, with barest amusement, that his grip on the table's edge placed him in an ideal position in regards to the image in front of him. Even as he coughed, he felt himself growing hard.

Through either luck or self-preservation, Kylo Ren's Force projection was invisible to the rest of the gathering at the table. Hux's coughing fit, however, wasn't. Lieutenant Mitaka waved over an attending droid, ordering it to bring a glass of water and turn up the humidifier in the conference room. It returned seconds later heading towards Hux, but with a flourish of black robes, the cup was grabbed from the tray and brought to the head of the table.

" _Thirsty,_ General?" The vocoder in Ren's helmet smothered the jest in his voice, but Hux sensed it nonetheless.

His flush surprised no one, as he drank down the water with as much etiquette as his situation allowed. He concentrated, coalescing his thoughts into clear verbage, projecting them towards the imposing figure in front of him. _Yes, for a tall glass of fuck you._

Ren twisted, returning to his seat _. I can see that,_ he projected back, casually tapping the table near the frozen force-hologram as he passed.

"General? If you're alright, should we—?" Hux barely heard Mitaka's question. He found himself still leaning on the table, and stood upright, looking down the bridge of his pale nose at the collected officers in front of him.

"Yes, and _do_ get on with it. The documentation will be submitted tonight, and I will need time to draft the report." This was a lie. The report had been finished ten standard days ago. When he felt satisfied that the meeting was back to a standard caucus, he addressed Ren mentally. _How long have you been here?_

 _The meeting started at 1400 hours. I was ten minutes late._

 _Not here, you overgrown hawk-bat! In here!_ Hux reached up and tapped his temple, as though testing for a headache.

 _My thighs, I think it was. Ten meters? That's very generous._ Ren tilted his head forward slightly in what Hux assumed was a nod of thanks. _But might I suggest instead—_

Hux could make out the knight's fingers tracing out a circular design on the armrest of the conference chair, and the translucent image in front of him shifted. He saw himself leaning back onto the edge of the table, head thrown back in a mute, but clearly visible, groan. He wore his standard issue hat, gloves, boots, and overcoat—exclusively. In the image, a black-cloaked figure knelt in front of him, unmistakably Ren. Hux's fingers were buried in hair which was, indeed, dark and wavy.

Hux felt his toes curl. Partly in arousal, but in some measure to keep himself from marching around the room for a better view. He fought to form his thoughts into words. To tell Kylo Ren _exactly_ what he thought of the provided scene. Ready to let him know precisely what was wrong with the image in front of him, and why he should cease these mind games immediately.

But perhaps—

No, there was no way Ren was getting off that easy. So to speak. Hux struggled for a response, but managed only: _Do you know how much trouble those boots are to get on?_ He demanded lamely. _Once I'm sans trousers, I'm hardly going to take the time to replace them, am I?_

 _We could find out._ A thin tendril of sensation worked its way up to the crease of Hux's thigh, and he felt himself twitch in response.

Hux bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. _Enough._ He felt the sensation repeated on his other side. _Enough!_ He insisted. _What_ is _your endgame, Ren?_

Ren shrugged visibly, _Just to let you know that I'm open to… negotiations. Regarding a mutual solution to the issue of… the issue that we're both having._

Hux's mind ran like wildfire, but he couldn't find a good reason not to at least—what had Ren said?— _negotiate._ Likely his judgment was clouded, but he doubted a single discussion could cause chaos and ruin. He steeled himself and responded. _Very well. I have this meeting's report ready to submit, so after we've adjourned, I will have several hours with which to discuss terms before returning to—_

In an explosion of movement, Kylo Ren leapt to his feet, his chair skidding out behind him. Before he was fully upright, his lightsaber was activated, jolting blade jutting out like red lightning. In two swift strokes, he cut a charred chunk out of the conference table. The smoldering triangle of metal fell to the floor with a loud _clang_. "This meeting is adjourned," he informed the room, before stalking out. _Your quarters,_ he added to Hux.

Hux's staff turned to him as one, fear evident in their eyes. He gave them a nod, reassuring them that they weren't in any danger. "Rather than reconvening after repairs, I will be consolidating your arguments into a report, and choosing the best, most logical course of action. All opposed?"

No one spoke, to his relief. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet as they vacated the room two and three at a time. Once he was alone with the repair droids, he took a deep breath and allowed himself to momentarily question his sanity. Convinced that this may be the worst idea in the galaxy, he took the shortest route to his quarters, striding as fast as his long legs and decorum would allow.


End file.
